V and I got into a debate about keeping the stash. Like an alcoholic should never have alcohol in the house, someone like me should never keep pills within my arms’ reach. It’s very simple – the concept is simple. If it’s not there, and it is harder to get to, then I probably will not reach for it quite as quickly. I argued that if the pills are not in the house, the likelihood of me engaging in more lethal acts are higher. Look at what happened the last time – I jumped off a goddamn building because I didn’t have a stash in my house and I couldn’t just block out the pain at that time. If there is enough pressure, it will burst no matter how much precaution you take. It’s only a matter of HOW.
At the end of the day, I realise I am not cooperating enough to work towards our treatment goal. Even though I still firmly believe that I cannot not have my stash. It’s a choice. I realise that.
I’m left confused and upset. Mostly with myself. As I say, it is a choice. Not anyone else’s choice, but mine and mine alone. We’ve reached an impasse.
At the end of the session, V reassured me that she wasn’t angry or mad at me. Even though she didn’t agree with what I had done, it didn’t mean that she was mad at me. That brought me some comfort.
Still, it was a hard session. And with one more session left to go before the holiday break and the end of the year, I wonder if the next will be even harder. And even if I anticipate that it will be, I know I will go back for more.